


Arthur Morgan: Cowboy of the Wasteland

by Bluest_Yeehaw42



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 76, Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Blood and Gore, Crossover, Emotional Baggage, Fish out of Water, Gen, Gun Violence, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Isekai, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Period Typical Attitudes from Arthur, References to Canon, Second Chances, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluest_Yeehaw42/pseuds/Bluest_Yeehaw42
Summary: Arthur Morgan fought his hardest to do right by the end of his life. He helped John get free to start his new life, at the expense of his own. But, someone must've been looking out for him, waking up to find he's alive and healthy again in some strange new world.Still carrying a lifetime of guilt on his mind, in an unfamiliar environment filled with all sorts of dangers he never could've imagined. Mutants, Monsters, Ghouls, Radiation. He's a relic in a world that's forgotten people like him a long time ago. But he's here now, and this world may find some use for him yet.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 23





	1. Confused

“Come on Dutch!” Micah pleaded to the old gang leader. But Dutch couldn’t find the will to look him in the eyes as he heard what he knew to be Arthur’s dying gasps.

This man on the ground, who had been like a son to him, and now it had come to this. Him lying on the ground, covered in blood and wheezing, at Micah’s hand.

Micah, who had convinced him so thoroughly that Arthur had betrayed him, but in a moment of clarity Dutch realized that he had acted too rashly. Even if he had felt that Arthur’s faith in him had waned in recent months, it was still all too painful to sit there and watch him die. But perhaps it was even more painful to look at the unkempt visage of Micah. Standing there so proudly and begging the old gang leader to follow him.

“Come ONNN.” He screamed once more. Dutch taking one last mournful look at Arthur, his _son_. Even if Micah had been right, there’s no way Dutch could ever feel comfortable working with him or truly knowing him again. He didn’t think he could ever see that face again without wanting to put a bullet in him. Turning his back to him, he walked off and down the mountain.

An exasperated Micah, growling in fury and cursing the old fool turned back down the other side of the mountain. The barely alive Arthur doomed to his spot on the mountain. Each agonized breath bringing him ever closer to his last.

His cracked face almost curling into a smile, almost laughing as he watched Dutch abandon Micah. After all that, all that fighting and arguing, his father figure had abandoned the both of them so easily. Even his twisted sense of loyalty must’ve still resided in him, in some strange way.

Arthur’s thoughts turned to John. He’d be able to live the life that Arthur never would be able to obtain, and that was something he could be proud of. At least, mostly.

He never considered himself to be a good man in his life, never truly. The greatest deeds he had done in his life were at the end of it. He couldn’t take pride in the actions done by a man afraid of what lay on the otherside, not for someone like him.

Not for someone who had taken so many lives, bad and innocent alike. No, even with this one last good deed, he didn’t imagine the other side would be far too kind on him. Crawling to the edge of the cliff, he lay on his back. Facing west towards the sun, as he had always wanted to go.

He wasn’t sure when death had finally taken him. He didn’t feel as if a moment had passed when on that ridge, staring into the sunrise he felt…calm? Not just calm but, renewed. Perhaps this was like those stories he had heard of pilgrims dying of hypothermia, feeling warm just before they died. But if that were true, even as good as his brain might’ve made him believe he was, surely no amount of trickery could make his breaths feel so much easier, or given him the energy he so desired.

This had to have been the easiest he had breathed in months. Still he lay, but death didn’t come for him and he felt like a might fool. Had he just been dramatic and overestimated his pain, had he always contained such a wealth of energy that in his fight with Micah he may have just been able to beat him had he tried a touch harder.

He reached up to brush a strand of hair from his face, but as his thumb crossed over it he met a surprise. Moments ago, his face had been bloodied in his fight, but his hand had come away clean.

In shock, the old cowboy sat up in surprise, even more surprised he was capable at all. Feeling something brush against his fingers at his side. There, peculiarly pristine was his father’s hat. The same one he had given John, a familiar weight at his shoulder, his trusty satchel.

“What the…”

Arthur muttered in confusion, feeling himself down his chest and patting his entire body. 

He was larger, hadn’t lost any of his weight from the throes of his tuberculosis mixed with sweating it off, while starving his way through the crazed jungles of Guarma. He felt his face, and it was clean shaven just as he had been before his life fell apart, the only thing left of his facial hair was the pristine mustache he tended to wear. Bushy, but not overwhelming.

Even his chest had felt whole again, unbuttoning one of his shirt buttons and slipping a hand in to caress his side. Feeling smooth skin where Colm O’Driscoll had left him the nastiest of scars from his kidnapping and torture.

He blinked in the sun, as the trees around him were turning a yellowed or red shade as fall was approaching. The trees almost a lush forest around him that seemed different from anywhere he could recall, but the cliffside he found himself upon was just as he remembered.

Had it all been a dream? All those months, all those hardships. The people he had lost, Sean, Kiearan, Lenny, Hosea, Molly, Susan, even Eagle-Flies? The shipwreck, the bankjob gone wrong, the business with the Braithwaites and the Grays, Micah planting thoughts of betrayal in Dutch’s mind, his tuberculosis diagnosis? The past six months a dream?

No, it couldn’t be. It had all been too real, too long. But yet here he was, whole again. On the same mountain…wait.

Arthur checked his holsters, finding his old Cattleman’s revolver. Blackened Iron, gold engraving with a pearl grip and a brass hammer and trigger. He remembered having that done, back in Rhodes after the German man gifted him a gold bar. Sure, he had fenced it and gave most of the money to the camp, but he kept a fair bit for himself as a treat. Gussy himself up and his trusted guns.

Checking the other holster for his sawed-off shotgun, darkened barrels and brass hammers. 

Wait, he remembered firing off both barrels at a Pinkerton who had ambushed him on his way up the cliff, he never had a chance to reload it. If it had all been a dream, then surely, he would’ve reloaded it. There was no reason why he’d fall asleep with it unloaded. None at all.

Opening the breach with a frantic concern he pulled out the remaining shells.

Empty, fired off. He pulled the shell up to his nose and took a sniff, the gunpowder scent was still strong and fresh. As if he had pulled the trigger minutes ago, as opposed to hours if he had simply fallen asleep.

This left a few options for Arthur Morgan.

A. The past six months had actually happened, and he was in the afterlife, but it looks the exact same as his old world and he’s healthy again for some reason? Which would imply that maybe he’s in heaven? Which is wholly unlikely for him.

B. His nose is off, he took a nap in the woods as he tended to do, and just had the craziest dream. Maybe from drinking too much whiskey or moonshine or something. Maybe even from cocaine gum? Something had happened.

C. (And this may be the craziest possibility), Maybe it was a premonition. Plenty of those things happened to so-called fortune tellers and seers. Arthur wouldn’t exactly call himself a prophet, but with something that vivid you can’t really forget it. Nor ignore what it might’ve foretold.

He had already thrown A out of his mind already. It was just too crazy.

But, most likely the answer was B. He remembered being plenty stressed after the Valentine business, going out fishing and hunting a bit more, drinking. Even took some time away from Camp for treasure hunting on the off chance he’d be able to bring back some riches to speed track whatever Dutch’s plan was. Least, he _thought_ that was a long time ago.

But, If C was true, then first thing he was going to do is march down to camp, offer to go hunting with Micah. And it may be dishonorable of a thing to do, but arrange a hunting accident for him. Maybe get him caught in the crossfire of some Lemoyne Raiders or O’Driscolls. Something.

Micah had it coming after all…then again if it were a dream it’d seem plenty awful to kill a man over something they might do as opposed to what they had actually done. Even as awful as Micah was, if the past few months had been a dream then maybe Arthur ought to just give him a punch or a warning.

Keep him in line.

Again, B seemed the most likely but there was still that nagging feeling that…wait.

“Arthur Morgan might be a fool, but he ain’t goddamn stupid.” The cowboy smugly told himself as he got a brilliant idea. If he needed to prove himself that things were fine, then there was no better record of his time then the one thing he recorded everything in.

His journal.

He felt stupid just feeling the need to check it, simply cause he had a bad dream, which granted had ended with him awakening in the same spot he had last remembered.

Flipping open his journal to the most recent page, he felt his heart drop as he realized he was about as far as he last remembered. In his final days he hadn’t written quite so much in his journal, his last entry being advice for the people he cared about.

To John, Mary, Tilly, Mary-Beth, Rain Falls, even to Dutch.

Tough as a man as Arthur Morgan was, even the strongest of men would feel faint at the sight. Here he stood in his prime, with evidence that his dream had been all too real.

Maybe he was, truly dead, and this was the afterlife. If so, had he really done that good as a person to deserve such treatment?

He wasn’t a very religious person, but he expected…well, something more than this. There was no one to talk to him, no St.Peter, no Lucifer or Jesus. Not even anything from some of the other religions, least none that he knew. He was just standing there in his boots, alone on a hill.

He wondered if he should cast off his weapons, but something in his gut told him that if he ended up here and still had his weapons, there was a solid chance whoever was looking out for him thought he might’ve still needed them.

Curiously, he whistled into the air. Wondering if his Horse had come with him into the afterlife. But his horse had always been a kinder being than he, ever the dutiful and loyal. He had called upon that old stead into many a gunfight, and it had carried him even at his most broken and bruised, all the way to the final battle. When Arthur didn’t hear the slightest hoofbeat, or the faintest trot come towards him he let out a sigh.

Either his horse didn’t come with him into whatever experience he was in right now, or it simply was just out of earshot.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he would have preferred the old girl to be here or not. If this was the afterlife, like hell if he’d want her to have followed him here. Old girl deserved enough of a rest.

Truth be told, he wasn’t quite sure how much of his supposed dream was going to even be accurate. Keeping an ear out as he made his way down the back end of the cliff he had fought his way up only moments ago.

It was quiet, and strangely not filled with bodies as he imagined it would be. It was a clear and beautiful day. Stopping to lean against the rock, he thought to check his trusty revolver as he tended to do after a fight.

Making sure he only had 5 of his 6 chambers loaded. He had seen too many greenhorns accidentally have their toes blown off cause they had foolishly loaded all 6 and then bumped the hammer of their old colt on a wall they leaned against.

Arthur had considered in the past switching to a Schofield or a simple double action, and although the Schofield’s power and Double-Action’s speed were fine, even the versatility of most modern pistols was incredible, but, strangely he could never quite get over the reliability and range he was able to maintain with his simple cattleman’s. Flipping the loading gate closed, satisfied with himself as his boots plodded down the hill.

Whistling once more out of curiosity if maybe his horse really was still here. But alas, it still was too far, maybe whole world’s afar.

“I must be a fool…” He grimaced, that journal full of notes weighing heavily on his mind. Pulling it out and unfurling the string just to look at it again, but it was all still there. Even the little things. Drawings of animals he had seen when hunting, his encounter with Margaret, or whatever that ‘lady’s’ name was. He even found the lewd drawing that the Frenchman, Mister Châtenay had gifted him after heading overseas.

But still, Arthur was able to breathe easy, he had no blood upon him, and his Father’s hat was back on his head. 

He heard a rustle come from a nearby bush, and perhaps the most decrepit squirrel he had ever seen crawled out.

“Jesus!” Arthur howled when he saw the thing. Its teeth were too long, its entire body was hairless and its bones stuck out through it’s skin. It looked like someone had half cooked the thing before it had leapt right from a spit and ran off.

“I have seen a might load of ugly critters in my time, but you my friend…well ya’ pretty high up on the list, that’s for damn sure.” 

He jeered at the creature. The thing staring at him with beady little eyes, plucking a bizarrely shaped acorn from off the ground and nipping at it.

Arthur Morgan, left wondering if maybe killing it would be a mercy killing at this point, but he couldn’t be sure who would be attracted to his gun, should it go off.

“Go on now, Git!” he kicked up some dirt, the Squirrel stopping to hiss at him before running off. Probably the first time he had ever seen a squirrel do that, but it wasn’t much worth his time to think about.

Arthur’s eyes peered into the distance and he saw something a touch bizarre. A lookout tower of some kind that he didn’t remember. Sure, he had traveled all over the land amongst these states, including in this general area. He wasn’t infallible, and tended to miss things fairly often, but it’d be a might hard for him to miss something like _that_.

Come to think of it, farther he got down the mountain the less familiar things seemed, quickly reaching the summit. Even the tracks of animals seemed, different. Less numerous. Soon he spotted what he thought might be the cause. There seemed to be a lumber yard just down the way, but it was especially peculiar.

Normally, he’d expect a wooden fence to separate the work space from the public, but this was gated off by a metal fence. Awfully fancy, and a lot of work for someone to go through just for what should be a few weeks effort.

Come to think of it, typically one would expect to see workers all over hacking away, or tents. An overseer or foreman looking over the whole thing, but there just plain wasn’t any. Some strange orange and yellow lump was layed on its side not far from the entrance, the gate falling apart and from disrepair.

The lump seemed metallic, which only piqued Arthur’s curiosity all the more.

A quick sweep in both directions to make sure there was no one around to spot him, Arthur decided to investigate. But as he got closer, he only felt even more confused. It wasn’t quite round, it was elongated and made of what seemed to be steel. Paint chipping off it as it lay in a rusted heap, a handle on the back and some perplexing set of…something on the side of it. Whatever those things were, they were covered in dried mud, which meant it must’ve been sitting on those for sometime. 

Bizarre metal tubing, almost like arms or tendrils came out of its sides, axe heads on each one.

“What in the…” Arthur trailed off, wondering if it was some kind of storage. Grabbing what seemed to be handle and tugging hard, but whatever it was must’ve weighed easily a few hundred pounds, maybe even a thousand. But there was a panel on the back and some text Arthur could see. Taking his trusty hunting knife and scraping off some of the mud.

“Robco. Prot, what the…Protectron? _Pro_ -Tectron. **_Protect-_** _ron_. What in the hell is a goddamn Protectron?”

He questioned, wondering if it was some new form of safe or something. But this was a weird place to put a safe, and why attach hoses and axe heads to it? Stupid thing to name a company ‘Robco’ too, that was like naming it ‘Pilfer from Me, Incorporated’.

Pressing his knife into the back panel, Arthur fiddled with it, trying to pry it open before a voice, unlike any he had ever heard, practically tore his soul out of his body.

“ _E-E-E **mer** gen-cy!_”

Arthur fell back as the container he had been trying to open suddenly lit up and began to move. The tubes on it moved, and it planted its Axe Heads into the ground, pushing off and landing back on it’s treads.

“JESUS GODDAMN CHRIST!” Arthur skittered back on his rear as the machine moved. He had never heard something sound like that, nor expected a machine to move like that before. This was wholly different from even the machine Marko Dragic had made and been slain by.

This thing moved too fluidly, it’s bizarre tread allowing it to spin around.

“ YOU ARE _TRES_ PASSING ON…. _GIL_ MAN LUMBER CO. … _PROP_ ERTY.”

It steamed forward to Arthur on its treads, axe heads raised menacingly.

“ _TRES_ PASSERS WILL BE DEALT WITH _ACC_ ORDINGLY”

Arthur’s adrenaline pounded, and just as it tended to do when he was in the middle of most life or death situations, Arthur felt time slow as he drew his revolver. Putting 3 rounds into its chest before it could come any closer.

The shots ringing out into the forest as the machine twitched and toppled over. Collapsing in a broken heap.

Arthur panted in fear. He hadn’t felt fear like that since he had last avoided being mauled to death by a bear. Wiping the sweat off his face, Arthur slowly got himself to his feet. Standing over the machine and putting a fourth shot in for good measure.

He never expected to feel as threatened by a machine as John Henry, though now that he thought about it, perhaps Henry was very much right to feel such fear. Casually loading his revolver with some more split point rounds before reholstering it.

“Nearly killed by a goddamn machine…or devil…least it’s dead now!” Arthur commented, wondering how old Dragic would feel knowing someone else had already made his dream come true by now.

“Least I know ya’ won’t be replacing god-honest human’s anytime soon.” He says with an almost pleased grin. Looking it over to see if there was secretly a monkey inside it or if he could spot an antenna the commands may have been transmitted from, having learned from the remote control boat he had seen.

But no, it was simply filled with just bolts, and metal pieces, as expected.

Not sure if he should maybe say a few words, or something incase the damned thing were possessed, Arthur resigned that should the thing come back for him he’d simply shoot it again. Dusting himself off as he continued on to the lookout tower.

* * *

He definitely wasn’t in Lemoyne, or New Hanover, or _anywhere_ he had ever been before. He knew that the moment he got to the road.

Entire thing was paved, big metal signs pointing off in every direction, even one with some funny looking cartoon feller advertising some ‘Vault-Tec’. Steel guard rails to prevent…Horses and carriages from going off the sides? No, those carriages didn’t look right. Big and steel, but rusted all to hell. He couldn’t even tell where the Horse was supposed to be attached to, but maybe people out wherever he was were trying out some of those new fancy modes of transportation using coal or something. He hadn’t been to any of the bigger cities or close to the stuff east in years, but had time really passed the old cowboy by that quick?

This just wasn’t something he had ever seen anybody do before, least not on such a grand scale. Why? How long had all this been here, that it could just rust away and start to fall apart? More importantly, where the hell was he?

Maybe if there was someone at the outpost he saw they could give him directions, tell him where exactly he was. Sure, he could travel into the nearest town by the road, but he wasn’t quite sure what to expect were he to make it down there. Be a helluva thing to run into a whole mob of Lawmen, or worse, Pinkertons.

Hiking up the hill, Arthur caught some foul smell on the breeze that seemed familiar. The scent of rotting flesh that seemed to drift all the way down. It smelled like a corpse, but stronger. He didn’t expect to smell anything like that this far away. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and Arthur decided to take a more wary approach. Getting low and drawing his gun, working his way through the bushes and tall grass.

Cresting over the top of the hill, Arthur saw a sight that perturbed him deeply. At the base of the lookout tower, was rebar and corrugated steel jutting out like spikes to ward off any intruders. Upon those spikes were human heads. A medieval cage like something out of an old puritan town hung from the support beams. Just by the stairs seemed like hundred of pounds of meat and gore, crudely stuffed into mesh bags, just sitting there like some disgusting butcher’s kill.

But the horrifying part was that the meat was a clear mix of human and animal flesh. Arthur could see an entire human ribcage and femur haphazardly thrown together with what seemed to be half a deer. A chill ran down Arthur’s spine, disgusted that he once again seemed to be the one to find the most depraved of individuals.

Though he considered turning back and heading down into the town below, he felt an incomprehensible urge to investigate and deal with whatever lay here. Whoever was the kind of person sick enough to display these horrors so proudly, ought to be put down. A lot of people, Arthur Morgan included, would be able to sleep far more soundly at night knowing there were a few less monsters out in these woods.

He quickly loaded a sixth shot into his revolver, edging closer to the site. He was about to take another step closer until something stopped him dead. In the mud surrounding the base he saw tracks, massive ones. A few were close enough that he could make them out and that made them all the stranger. 5 toes on each foot, almost exactly like a human’s but so much larger than anyone he had ever seen.

A lot of them, different enough to be distinct, so more than 1? More than one person so incredibly large and barefoot?

Arthur had fought a whole bunch of inbred cannibal hillbillies in his life, probably far more than any one man should ever reasonably have the opportunity to fight. Like, SERIOUSLY FAR MORE than he should ever expect, they practically sought him out at this point. But sasquatches or ogres or whatever these things had to be was definitely new.

No, that was crazy. Had to be from some weird bear, but what kinda bear makes meat bags?

Wait, no. Arthur figured it out. Some crazy person made all this stuff to ward people off, they leave meat bags, that attracts bears. A particularly unique bear left those prints, after all Arthur Morgan couldn’t just write off the possibility that he could be sure _every_ bear made the same footprints. If it was injured, that too may have made it more likely to leave prints that’d look more human.

Still, he kept his revolver ready as he finally closed the distance, lifting his neckerchief to cover his face and mouth. The smell was foul, and any reasonable person would’ve likely run screaming back to their mamas. But Arthur had seen and dealt with worse, or so he thought.

Up the staircase he went, the sun rising higher and higher into the sky as he did. It must’ve been nearing mid-day by now. Where did the day go?

The lookout tower would’ve been impressive, for its glass windows and impressive structure. That is of course, were it in perfect condition and most of the windows not blown out. Oh yes, and of course obviously the copious amounts of gore inside. How or why someone would want to carry this all the way up top baffled him.

Utter confusion just seemed to be how today was going to go for Arthur Morgan. Nothing was making sense anymore, but why should it? It’s not like the world had ever stopped and waited for him to make sense of things before.

Arthur Morgan stepped in as flies buzzed around his head, flying past his eyes and landing just a few feet away from the entrance to the lookout tower on…well _that_ was also something someone didn’t see every day.

It was a dead feller, seemingly having committed suicide. A Hunting Rifle still tucked into his mouth, sitting upon the bed. It was always a sad sight to see, even if Morgan had mixed feelings about the person were they the ones who had done all this. They wore some even stranger clothing, some weird blue and yellow jumpsuit that was reminiscent of the advertisement he had seen on the walk over.

Arthur found himself in a bit of a moral dilemma. He had no other weapons on him aside from his two sidearms, and if he encountered anything close to as big of a bear, he’d be in deep trouble. Making sure no one was watching him, head turning back and forth. Arthur wasn’t sure what the most respectful thing to do was here. Last thing he needed was any ghosts haunting him for what he was about to do.

“Uh…Lord help this…er..misguided soul off to…Uh, wherever they belong and…oh screw it. Lord forgive me.” He cut his impromptu sermon short.

Slowly lifting what was left of the person’s head off the rifle and pulling it out of their cold dead hands. Stealing watches and valuables was one thing, but this felt wrong. Still, it was about survival. 

“Sorry pardner…I’ll uh…try to make good use of this on your behalf.” He remarks, checking the rifle out. It was one of the fancier kind, sporting a removable magazine instead of the machined type he was used to. Pulling back the bolt he checked the ammunition, which thankfully was of the same caliber as the bullets he had used for his original rifle. He wiped the blood off the barrel with the only clean section left of the bed before sliding the rifle into his shoulder holster. Tipping his hat to the person.

But his eyes caught movement on some strange device on the person’s wrist.

That same little cartoon feller from the ads, on a plane of glass. Embedded into the device on their wrist. But the most incredible thing was that the little feller was moving. Gripping his throat as his eyes turned into little crosses. Over and over again he reached for his throat, tongue lolling out, eyes xing themselves over.

“What in the goddamn…”

Arthur tapped the glass with a finger. Looking back at the dead stranger and to his arm. The piece was massive, and practically a piece of armor. It was made of some strange material, like Parkesine or a billiard ball.

“ ‘fraid I gotta bother you again stranger….just what the hell is that ya got there?” He mutters, feeling the entire thing over and twisting the dials. Amazed that the screen appeared to change as he did, wondering how such a funny little device could hold so many cards. Wondering if a light inside must’ve been projecting them infront of him, but the motions were so lifelike he almost thought it might truly be alive. 

It looked like he was going through different ‘tabs’, almost like a filing cabinet. Feeling around the device he found a latch, tugging on it and feeling it pop off the stranger’s wrist, sliding it off and turning it around in his hands. It was a hefty thing, but even an odd toy like this might fetch a decent price.

Curious, he slid it on, clamping it down on his arm. It sealed tightly around his beefy arm, and the screens suddenly began to change again. The dials twisting on their own and setting it to a screen of that same little feller, but now it read out something different.

Multiple numbers and indicators popping up, images in plain numbers. Heart icons and a number, oxygen level in blood. All sorts of fancy doctoral stuff that Arthur didn’t fully understand. He had his blood pressure taken once by a doctor, but this kind of information was incredible. However, this doohickey worked it could change the world!

“Wowee…who made you, pretty little thang?” He turned it around, fiddling with another knob that seemed to move some sort of line inside a smaller glass case with numbers on the side. An odd crackling noise coming from it that temporarily made him think he had broken it before music filled his ears.

“Oh, you can _sing_ too!”

He grinned wide under his mask like a toddler as the radio blared on his, now second-hand, Pip-Boy.

_No one to talk with_

_All by myself_

_No one to walk with_

_But I'm happy on the shelf_

_Ain't misbehavin'_

_I'm savin' my love for you_

_For you, for you, for you_

Arthur let the music play, looking at the decrepit and bloodsoaked lookout post he had found himself in. The song was sadder than he had thought it’d be, but he let it play on. His eyes catching a map, too drenched in blood to bring with him. But the words upon it caught his eyes.

“West Virginia?” He read. His heart dropping.

That was so much farther north-east than he could’ve ever thought. He expected he was somewhere more modern, but he had passed through West Virginia at one point in his past and it hadn’t looked nothing like this. Not even close.

Now that Arthur was looking out from the ledge, the world itself seemed to be so very different from what he ever could’ve imagined. In the distance he saw probably the largest bridge he had ever seen, possibly in the entire world. A massive suspension bridge of steel cables crossing the river ahead.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph…” He stared wide eyed, feeling as if his eyes were about to leap from his skull at the sight. Standing on the ledge of the lookout tower in amazement. Wondering if he’d have time to sketch it before anyone showed up.

_I know for certain_

_The one I love_

_I'm through with flirtin'_

_It's just you I'm thinkin' of_

_Ain't misbehavin'_

_I'm savin' my love for you_

The song continued, the Cowboy’s bowed head into his journal probably the only reason he was able to see rustling down below and something neared the lookout tower. He slapped his journal close and stuffed it away, backing up from the ledge with his new rifle poking out.

The noise from his Pip-Boy reminding him he had to shut the thing off. Fiddling with the dials and buttons. Accidentally changing it to static once or twice before he finally found a dial that did something useful. The sound extinguishing like a candle in the breeze.

Arthur Morgan thought he would be ready for whatever stepped out of that treeline, Bear, hillbilly cannibal. Whatever it may have been.

The last thing he would’ve ever considered was that his most outlandish theory was what greeted him. A beast that walked like a man, covered in rusted metal with foul green skin reared its ugly head, accompanied by three others of its kin. Carrying a pair of headless human bodies over its shoulder.

“Sweet mother of-!“ Arthur almost hollered, wondering how the hell in his life did it get to the point he felt safer in a place as ghastly as the interior of the lookout.

“A goddamn pack of OGRES. Just your luck, Morgan…”

Why him? Where the hell was he? What the hell was going on around here that a creature straight out of a fairy tale suddenly appears. Had he gone truly insane, or was this just what the afterlife was like?

Was this hell? Is that why things were so grotesque and ugly here yet so familiar? Had to be. Had to be hell. It’s what he deserved after all, but they had given him his strength back, these weapons and opportunities to fight, but why? To laugh as he tried his hardest only to fail?

No.

**NO.**

He wasn’t going to give them that pleasure.

Rooting around in his satchel for something that might give him an edge. Finding a small lump of bear fat, some throwing knives, his lighter, and a few leaves of dried oleander. 

Better than nothing. 

Arthur swiftly wiped the oleander over the blades of his knives as he heard the ogres root around down below.

**“Klarg! Bring the meat over to the pot.”**

**“NNGH No! You no cook good. You make meat taste bad.”**

**“Why no hear others whine?”**

Arthur wasn’t in the mood to hear their domestic disputes, spotting a bottle of alcohol tucked under the desk beside him. Snatching it from its dust covered hiding space. Biting the cork off and spitting it to the side, taking a swig and grimacing.

It was strong and tasted foul. Perfect.

Tearing a segment of the frayed sheet of the bed and stuffing it in, making sure he squeezed out the bear fat over it, so it would be nice and oily. 

**“BORIS AND DORIS SCARED OF YOU”**

**“I NO SCARED.”**

**“Shut up! Three of you…I smell something…"**

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

Arthur lit up his lighter, heading descending down the first flight of stairs. Gripping his lighter and Molotov tightly behind his back. 

“Gentlemen, Gentlemen!” He called out, stopping the ogres from fighting amongst eachother only briefly.

The four green fools staring at him in shock, surprised that anyone would step into their obvious territory. Ordinarily they would’ve shot him on sight, but tired as they were from hunting, throughout the night, even they weren’t in the best of minds to act. Afterall, what could be done when someone walks out of your own home?

“I was sittin’ up here admirin’ your sense of décor when I happened to hear ya’ll arguin’. I was sitting up there thinkin’, now Arthur. You can fix all this yourself…so then, Gentlemen.”

Pulling from behind his back the now lit molotov, the smugness seemed to radiate from under Arthur Morgan’s mask. The dim-witted beasts below realizing to the full extent of how screwed they were in that instant.

“How’sabout I cook?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed chapter 1!
> 
> I can also be found on Tumblr @bluestyeehaw42, if you may feel the need to contact me for whatever reason or are simply interested in this or any of my other works! I may occassionally make posts there in relation to this story, or if for whatever reason you may not have an Ao3 account, I post notifications for updates there!


	2. Unfamiliar Territory

Arthur sprinted back up the staircase, turning back and firing a shot downwards at the ascending beasts.

“You’re a genuine _DUMBASS_ Arthur Morgan.” He muttered to himself as the screaming monsters pounded up the stairs, completely engulfed in flames.

**“RAAAAHHHH”**

Another shot ripped from his revolver, striking it in the kneecap as it tumbled over, blocking the way of the other ogres. Callously, the one Arthur assumed was ‘Doris’, smacked ‘Boris’ out of the way, who tumbled down to the ground to his death.

“Ya goddamn idiot” Arthur continued to chastise himself as he slammed the nearly busted door of the lookout tower shut. Rushing out to the other side and looking over the railing, easily a 40 to 50-foot drop.

“You threw a firebomb at them, and didn’t stop think for one goddamn second, ‘Hey Arthur, if you’re in hell then maybe there’s a solid chance fire would only PISS THEM OFF’ !?!”

Gunshots rang out in quick succession from behind him, pinging off the metal rails as one of them fired wildly.

**“BACK. HERE. HUUUMAN.”**

He felt all the more stupid for investing all that time poisoning his knives now that these things were clearly too tough for anything like _that_ to bring them down. Obviously, a stronger solution would be necessary. Pulling his bolt action from his shoulder holster, Arthur readied himself.

The ogre’s green head hadn’t been in sight for more than a second before it exploded. The top half of its skull flying off. Its body moving mechanically up the stairs another step before collapsing. And down went Doris.

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK

He cocked the bolt back, feeling the smoothness of his rifle and grinning. It might’ve been the smoothest bolt on a rifle he had ever felt. Considering he now had to trust that rifle with his life, Arthur couldn’t be happier with the results. 

“COME ON YA BIG UGLY BASTARDS!” Arthur taunted, the body sliding back down the stairs. Arthur felt a chill run down his spine as the corpse’s bloody visage made itself present again. Seeming to come back from the dead and continue its grisly march.

**“GO GO GO.”**

“SHIT.” He cursed, lining up for center mass and firing again. Wondering if he could hit its heart, or if it even had one. But on it marched, a green arm wrapped around its waist and pushing the corpse forward.

Like a shield, the mouthy ogre from before, carried his fallen brother with all the confidence of a knight rushing into battle. Firing a volley of rounds and shattering what few panes of glass were left in the lookout. Letting out a hearty and victorious laugh as he watched Arthur dive out of the way, showered in glass. 

**“I NOT SO STUPID AS YOU!”**

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK

“OH YEAH?” Arthur yelled back, scooting on the ground until he got a good angle through the windows. Hitting the mutant’s exposed elbow.

**“UGRKH!”** He dropped his ‘shield’ in agony, clutching his injured arm.

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK

Another round through its skull. The third dead ogre adding to the growing collection of bodies acting as sandbags for Arthur’s one-man war on the monsters.

“Bigger they are, harder they fall!” He shouts with pride.

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK

One shot left, had to make it count.

Ogre number four, Klarg, not as dumb but more arrogant than the rest, charged with nothing but a spiked club. Keeping his head low as he came up the stairs, one hand covering his face. Moment he reached that final stair, rather than rushing straight for the lookout door he turns right. Keeping distance between himself and Arthur. Flanking around the lookout’s balcony and using the house itself for cover. 

‘Smart one…’ Arthur almost admired, firing through Klarg’s hand.

Though he was right that the bullet passed through easily, he couldn’t have predicted that Klarg would’ve ducked at just the right moment. The high caliber round only grazing the top of his skull. Even with the fingers on his left hand falling off, and blood oozing down the back of his neck, he would not be swayed from his one goal now. Smashing in this tiny human’s skull for daring to come into his home.

“Aw hell…” Arthur stepped back as Klarg rounded his final corner. Holding his rifle in one hand and pulling his sawed-off shotgun with the other. Firing the first round’s worth of buckshot into Klarg’s chest.

8 Tiny metal pellets may not have been able to punch through his calloused green skin, but at such a close range, even that made the giant warrior stumble. Reaching out with his stump of a hand to steady himself with the panes of the lookout before leaning against the barbed wire railing on his elbow. The wind knocked out of him.

“Aww, is the big green people-eatin’ monster not feelin’ too good?” Arthur sneered at the beast. Already growing very sick and tired of their bullshit. Repulsed now that he was close enough to smell. As one can imagine, Klarg smelled as good as one could expect a 9 foot tall lump of muscle that spent all its time butchering animals whilst seemingly being afraid of anything even closely related to the word ‘soap’. Not that Arthur smelled the finest either, but even by the standards of the wild west Klarg smelled like death.

Breathing heavily, Klarg opened up his mouth to retort.

**“I…AM…SUPER-HKH”**

With the very short barrel of Arthur Morgan’s sawed off stuffed into his mouth, Klarg’s words and life was cut short with a loud

**_BOOM_**

His head exploding right off his neck, and the remains of the once proud super mutant flew off him. Chunks raining all over the balcony’s floor, and even down to the mud-covered ground below.

“Aw shut up.” He snickered, opening the breach of his shotgun and stuffing in his next few rounds. He’d spend the next minute or so needing to reload all his weapons, but he did so with an odd sense of relief. It hadn’t been the easiest fight of his life, but he’d had plenty of worse ones. They were tough, he’d had to give them that. But if this was the worst he’d have to deal with in the hell that was ‘West Virginia’, or wherever this actually was, then atleast his odds weren’t nearly as bad as it could’ve been.

After one last onceover of the lookout tower, Arthur had decided he had seen enough here. There wasn’t much of value to be found here. At least nothing he’d be willing to use after being soaked in blood. The ogres hadn’t used any weapons he’d feel safe using. Hunks of crude wood and piping that looked like they were made by a child. How those crude pipe rifles fired without exploding in their hands baffled Morgan, but the monsters clearly didn’t have any regard for their own safety. He took the ammo they had, stuffed into crude bags that were made from animal hides and whatever cloth they could scrounge up.

However, he did find a decent map of ‘West Virginia’ inside the lookout’s desk drawers.

The big colorful depictions of locations reminded him somewhat of old sea maps he had seen as a boy. The type that when the cartographer got lazy he’d simply put ‘Here There Be Dragons’. He couldn’t tell what most of the pictures were, aside from a very large gator on the map that made him decide to avoid the area entirely. He’d dealt with enough gators in his life, and if a gator were large enough to need putting it on a map then maybe he’d want to find someone who’d help him carry the skin back before deciding to hunt the massive thing.

Though he wasn’t quite sure exactly where he was on the map. Checking the propped up and bloodied map in the Lookout, he found he was almost dead center of West Virginia. He’d need to head southwest and work his way through Kentucky. Then maybe he’d have a chance reaching the New Hanover region of the country, or at least the easternmost end. It’d be a helluva trek to do with a horse, and damn near impossible on foot. If he could find a train station, he might be able to cut the travel time down by a few weeks as opposed to months.

Maybe it was foolish to try to head back over that way. All the uncertainties he had over where he was, or whether he was actually even still alive. But something in his gut made him wonder if he could just make it over there, maybe he could make some sense of all this.

Plodding down the steps, Arthur spotted the body of Boris on the ground. The only one of the beasts he had seen that still had a face intact. Most of his burns only on his lower half. His head tilted up towards the sky in an almost mournful gaze. Now was his chance to capture what the beasts looked like up close. The rest of their sour expressions a blur in his mind from the adrenaline of the fight.

Pulling out his journal, Arthur dutifully recorded the face. Never considering himself much of a naturalist, he still felt it necessary to at least have some type of record for the encounter.

> _Encountered a horde of these people eating freaks here. Big green, thick skin. Ears gnarled and a bit pointy. Fire doesn’t work on them and they smell like death. Need something strong to punch through them like a rifle. Beady little eyes that don’t look right, misshapen faces. Look like if a drunk tried to carve a human face outta rotten wood. Didn’t talk too right neither. Big, Dumb and Angry. _

That had to be good enough. It was his first entry in this place, and of course Arthur had made it about something else. No matter, he’d have time to camp out somewhere later and make a real entry. There was the road he had passed on the way here, it was time to check out whatever towns were nearby, see if there were even people there.

Truth be told, Arthur had a sickening feeling that with as big as these ogres were and how close the town had been, he doubted there were many of them left alive. Something that big has to be eating like crazy, and they didn’t strike him as farmers.

His eyes shifting to the headless corpses the beasts had dragged there. He didn’t even know who those two were or if they had families, but if there was anyone alive down there, he’d at least be able to lead them back to reclaim them and bury them.

With a heavy heart, he trekked down the hill towards the roads, hoping it’d lead him to some form of civilization.

* * *

Arthur had almost forgotten about the strange device on his wrist, which was impressive considering its size. He would’ve turned on the music he had heard before, something to make the walk feel less lonely. But fear kept him at bay. He was already walking down a deserted road feeling awfully exposed, the last thing he wanted was to potentially attract unwanted attention.

Well, it was almost deserted. Littering the road the entire way seemed to be husk after husk of those peculiar metal carriages. Some in better repair than others, Arthur considered that perhaps they were some of those new automobiles he had heard of. Benzos or whatever they were called than ran on oil and kerosene. He had seen maybe one in his whole life by chance back in New Austin. Some rich tycoon had driven by and he had barely caught a glimpse of it while he was riding Boadicea.

But to see so many of them, and so weirdly shaped with such branding? Corvega and Chryslus? With the rise of so many corporations, Arthur supposed he shouldn’t be expected to remember every single one, but he couldn’t even remember ever hearing the name before at all. Yet here they were, almost ancient in how they sat by the roads. Untouched, covered in dust and rust, not even looted or scrapped. Just sitting out in the sun, almost mocking him.

Mocking him with their unfamiliarity yet almost archaic appearance. The world had passed him by with his time in the gang. Why was he going to go back there? He was lost, he had a chance to run away from that life. But if there was no Arthur, then who would let them know to avoid Micah? Who would help John escape with Jack and Abigail…or had it all already happened?

It hurt just to think, and Arthur considered searching for a cigarette in his satchel. He had limited his smoking during the worse days of his Tuberculosis. Somehow, they always seemed to do more harm then good for him, but at least they got rid of his headaches. Then again tobacco smoke would smell strongly, even out here.

Now that Arthur really thought about it, he wondered if he even still had Tuberculosis. He had all his old notes, but was suddenly in his prime again. But if he was still himself when they had just moved to Clemens Point, that meant he still had that foulness in him. He still had that evil in him that he earned for beating that poor sick man nearly to death.

Awful cruel to make him go through that business again, and Arthur wondered if he would try to fight it harder this time, now that he knew it was coming, or if he’d just let it take him. He took a deep breath of the Appalachian air, savoring it. It was an incredible thing to suddenly not be able to breathe with ease.

Though there had been many nights he had cursed Thomas Downes, before eventually turning the hatred to himself. In some ways he almost had to thank him. Shortened and painful as it had made his life, he was in some way grateful for the time it had given him. The time he had before he passed in which he knew to arrange his affairs and do something right. Something meaningful, and so he rightfully did.

This wasn’t heaven, per se. Otherwise he would’ve seen his mother at some point, and it weren’t hell or he would’ve seen his father, surely. That left…not many other pleasant options. Purgatory maybe?

Spotting what seemed like an odd place for a trolley or town car, Arthur couldn’t help but notice the doors were open and it was stuck completely still. No track or wires, just the same wheels as every other vehicle. Cobwebs in the window and dust told him it had been sitting about as long as anything else.

He poked his head in, a musty smell like that of a mummified corpse coming from the inside. Sure enough, there were at least 4 bodies inside.

The driver, slumped over the wheel with his head having fallen off onto the floor, Skeletonized.

A man in an old blue suit, a hat on his head and a cigar down to the nub sitting in his mouth, only held up by mummified lips, a lunch pail in his lap.

Then finally the saddest pair. A woman in a dress, holding the hand of what seemed to be her daughter. The daughter clutching tightly to a toy doll missing one of its button eyes. All of them long ago dead, most of their skin gone. Nearly just bones at that point.

Arthur began to reconsider his hell theory. If this were even still Earth, then the rapture must’ve come already, far more violently then any tent preacher had ever shouted before. Not that Arthur would’ve been able to leave this world anyways, no matter how many hail marys he spoke, or how long he could’ve been baptized.

If there was a god, and he had left him here, then he was going to fight just as he always had, for however long it’d take. No demon was going to take him, even if he may have deserved a hell. They’d have to work for it, and that was final.

Out of the corner of his eye, something was moving down the road. Turning his head, Arthur spotted what looked like a mangy deer. Wait, two of them. No…wait, what?

Pulling out his binoculars he adjusted his sights until he could get a clear image. But even when he had he wasn’t sure if he was seeing double vision or not.

A two-headed stag? An illusion surely, but as he checked the other details on the creature, looking for some irregularity that could disprove its existence infront of him, he found none. The antlers weren’t interlocked or overlapping, if anything they even seemed to be shorter on the interior ones so the two heads wouldn’t collide. A pair of legs hanging limply from the side.

He had no home to mount such a thing, but such an oddity if he brought into the closest town couldn’t be argued, surely. Even if he had to carry the thing, something like that would net him a hefty sum of money, easily. But another set of heads popped into view, and Arthur lowered his binoculars. His dreams dashed as he realized the one, he had seen was merely the first in a roaming herd of the two-headed stags.

Does and even fawns trailing behind with the same peculiarities, here such a thing was seemingly the normal. The cowboy watching in awe as the sun cast its rays upon them. Sitting back and deciding to let them pass before continuing on, figuring that being gored by two sets of antlers wasn’t in his plan for the day.

Leaning against the track-less trolley and reaching into his satchel for half a bottle of Guarma Rum he had been saving. Taking a swig as the two-headed stags marched on.

Once they had passed, Arthur soldiered on. Spotting a farmhouse on the side of the road with lots of nice farmland. A welcome sight, were the farm house not in clear dis-repair. The door flung off its hinges. Taking cover behind a rock on the opposite side of the road from the home, Arthur peered into the home with his binoculars.

He thought he had seen a person standing on the porch, but as he zoomed in it appeared to be a statue. Hand’s grasping their skull as they stared off into the sky. Weird green crystals coming out of it every which-way. Considering it a weird place for a statue, Arthur was reminded of a conversation he had with a professor in a bar long ago. A place up in Rome had its inhabitants turned to stone by some volcanic eruption.

Or perhaps it was something biblical, such as Lot’s wife turning to salt. Something horrible had happened here regardless, and it made him all the more uneasy.

_Wait._

He just saw movement. Tuning his binoculars to focus on the source, he covered his mouth with a hand in revulsion.

“Jesus Christ…”

There in the farmhouse were eyes, glowing in the dark, staring right back at him seemingly. The being moved towards the door, the light catching the figure. It almost looked like a person. Almost. Its skin was raw and red, like a flayed corpse. Covered in the same green crystals that poked through its skin all over. Those crystals glistening in the sunshine as it stood there, drool coming down its lipless face. Eyes unblinking, glazed over and scratched. Its chest rose and fell with each breath, an axe held limply in its grasp that almost threatened to drag the whole person down.

She, at least Arthur thought they were a she, wore a tattered dress. Hanging by threads on her, blood splattered down her front. Her mouth opening and gnashing at a fly that buzzed around her like a feral animal.

Something primal in Arthur Morgan was telling him to run, as those eyes seemed to stare into him through his binoculars. Arthur wasn’t much of one to run from anything, but this chilled him to his core.

This had to be hell, for nothing like that should ever be capable of walking the earth. Not with those blank unstaring eyes, now so horrifically maimed as it were. Nothing that looked like that should even be capable of standing if it could still feel. Whoever that damned soul was, he wanted nothing further to do with it.

Stuffing his binoculars away, he could see movement in the fields, just barely seeing the top of a head. Just as rubbed raw, with the faintest trace of those green crystals poking out. There were even more of them, and how he hadn’t seen that troubled him. He could’ve been ambushed while he was looking through his binoculars.

Getting low, Arthur fled. Needing to put as much distance as he can from the sight of that thing to feel remotely comfortable again. Those scratched and dead eyes sticking in his mind and making him feel ever more alone in such a harsh and unfamiliar world.

Once he had fled a suitable distance, he stopped next to the husk of a dying tree. Leaning against it and waiting for his breath to catch back up to him. Breathing out and blowing away a gnat that was flying close to his face. Blinking as something irritated his eyes. A loud buzzing noise to his left.

Turning slowly, he saw the source of the noise. A firefly, uncharacteristically flying in the day, about half as big as Arthur’s whole fist. He almost thought he was seeing a fairy with how large the thing was, though as it landed on a peculiarly placed wooden clapboard. Arthur considered it may have been more fair to say it was a Will-O-Wisp.

The wooden clapboard that sat there by the side of the road, read clearly:

“THE WAYWARD”

“OPENING SOON!”

“FOOD. DRINKS. ROOM. REFUGE.”

“Conveniently located on RT.86 and RT.88”

“ALL KINDS WELCOME!”

The sigh was new, new enough that Arthur could still see the patches of dead grass from where the person had placed it had traveled back. Normal human footprints, leading to the road he was already traveling down. He only needed to go just a bit farther and maybe find a god-honest human.

With relief, Arthur sighed.

No longer feeling quite so alone.


End file.
